A Tricky Business: Chapter 2
Apr. 21st, 2007 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesAuthor's Note: Disclaimers and other info on Chapter 1. This is a work in progress, though in much faster progress thanks to my beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wildannuette. (Wave your mouse over the Chinese for translations.)
Shirts and Dogs
The four Serenity crew members sat at one of the few tables in the bar. Around them milled all kinds of people, mostly crew members of the various ships peddling their wares at the Eavesdown market. Most of the cargo ships were regulars to the planet but there were others which, like Serenity, passed by on occasion with the odd batch of goods. There were a few representatives of the local community: there was a couple of men searching for a reasonably-priced transporter to take their stock of chickens, one youth asking around for the cheapest fares to Beamonde, one other offering his skills to any short-handed crew. Then there were the regulars, the pickpockets, and the whores.
Though not many of that last batch. Just enough of them to wet the men’s appetites, nimble fingers always ready to point the way to Bessie Mae’s, where the women’s associates would be more than happy to offer them their services.
Jayne propped his feet up onto Mal’s chair as Mal went for another round of Ngkapei. He swirled the last dregs in his mug, looking over the crowd. His eyes skipped over a huddled group of youths and squinted through the smoke at the men leaning at the bar. To his left, Wash was saying something. Jayne finished his drink and tuned back into the conversation.
“—that those Dogbots sell for more than real live dogs,” said Wash.
“Better believe it,” said Zoë. “They love ‘em over in the better-off colonies, where they got the money to buy a dog but not to feed it year-round. More economic that way.”
“So why get the ‘bot anyway?”
“’Cause kids have an amazing way of bein’ insistent?” offered Jayne.
“But…” Wash gestured with his mug. “Dogs, though, real ones—they can be put to work. Not those fancy jīnshǔ-mutts.”
“Oh, these ‘bots can be put to work too,” said Zoë. “They may not herd cattle, but they’re certainly useful to town-folk.”
“How so?”
“Watch-dogs,” said Jayne. “Got ‘em rigged up with cameras.” He peered into his empty mug. “People use ‘em to watch over their smaller herds, flocks and similar.”
“Shopkeepers like using them too, especially to ward of shoplifters and run errands,” added Zoë. “And the sick, to carry their meds around. Some docs use ‘em too, if they need more drugs than they got on them. Our model’s a bit limited, though.”
“’Bout the cameras,” said Wash, pointing towards Jayne, “the dogs’s we’re selling don’t have very good ones installed. Just a few hours memory and very limited light requirements.”
“It’s the new ones that’re really designed for that,” clarified Jayne. “Heard say they got them so’s they can smell things, recognize people--”
Zoë raised an eyebrow and pressed her cool mug against her cheek. “Combine that with night vision, visual and audio captures, maybe even Cortex-connection…”
Wash gave a low whistle. “Sounds pretty.”
Jayne shrugged. “Reckon we’ll be seeing them soon enough, our line of work being what it is.”
“Also,” added Zoë, “the regular models respond to voice-commands, talk back and all, like the one’s we’re transporting.” She patted her husband’s arm reassuringly. “Seem’s like a nice toy.”
Over on the other side of the smoky room Mal’d finally managed to shoulder his way to the bar and was placing their orders. Jayne glanced at the man beside the captain, noting he had what looked to be a new model of the Vicar: he didn’t remember the handle being that long. He’d have to ask around in the morning, maybe get himself one too.
Then his eyes drifted over to one of Bessie’s girls and he stood up.
“Jayne?” asked Zoë, glancing in Mal’s general direction. She’d noticed Jayne’s scrutiny of the bar.
Jayne placed his mug on the table, tilting it to make sure he’d drunk it all. He pocketed his stubbed out cigar and wiped his hands on his pant legs. “Goin’ over to Bessie’s for a spell,” he said, picking his hat from the table. “Be back by first light.” He nodded at the two and pushed his way towards the door.
As he left the table, he heard Wash say, loud enough for him to hear, “Couldn’t we give him the slip this time?”
Jayne made a small detour to the pool table, giving the balls an experimental poke. The solid red one rolled forward a little, but his finger went straight through the striped green. Yup, he thought, just as broken as last time.
As he turned from the pool table, something on the floor caught his eye. Stooping, he picked it up and turned it over. It was an old leather hat, somewhat burnt along the edges. Jayne turned it over again. Kinda small, he decided, before letting it drop.
Jayne skirted the huddle of men waiting for their drinks, failed to spot Mal, and took a death breath as he walked out into the street. He looked back a moment, right hand on his back pocket, then strolled down to visit the girls.
Back at the bar, Mal made his way to the table, four mugs of Ng-Ka-Pei clutched tightly in his hands. He plopped the mugs down, spilling yet more of the liquor, mumbling a few choice phrases regarding the rude jostling he’d had to save the drinks from. As he shook his hands free of the liquor he said, “Where’d Jayne go off to?”
“Did you see his shirt?” said Wash.
“Shirt?” Mal frowned. “What’s clothes got to do with it? Zoë, your man itching to shop again?”
“No, sir,” answered Zoë with a smile. “Wash and Jayne don’t share the same tastes in clothes, either.” She reached for a mug, pushing the other towards her husband.
Wash accepted the mug and took a sip. He winked over its edge. “He went to see a lady,” said Wash with a smirk.
Mal dropped into his seat and took a swig of his drink. “And since when does Jayne know ladies?”
“Well,” mused Wash, “figure he’ll get to know them pretty well by daylight.”
“Whorin’?” Mal rubbed his eyes. “Does that man have to make whoring a bì bù kě shǎo zǔ chéng?”
“Chángcháng,” added Zoë in the tone of one saying “amen”.
“The shirt, Mal.”
“Why’s he talking about the shirt like it’d explain something?” asked Mal of Zoë.
“It’s his ‘I’m going out whoring’ shirt,” explained Wash.
Mal seemed to think this over a moment. “Thought it was his “I’m getting dead drunk” shirt. All with the drinkin’ and the making merry.”
“Plenty of merry making,” noted Zoë, stifling a grin.
“Definite sexing, Jayne wearing that shirt,” agreed Wash.
Ngkapei (ng gaa pei) - an actual Chinese rice wine/liqueur soaked in the root bark of the medicinal herb acanthopanax.
jīnshǔ – metal
Vicar - a totally invented type of gun
bì bù kě shǎo zǔ chéng – absolute necessity
chángcháng – with frequency
wildannuette. (Wave your mouse over the Chinese for translations.)The four Serenity crew members sat at one of the few tables in the bar. Around them milled all kinds of people, mostly crew members of the various ships peddling their wares at the Eavesdown market. Most of the cargo ships were regulars to the planet but there were others which, like Serenity, passed by on occasion with the odd batch of goods. There were a few representatives of the local community: there was a couple of men searching for a reasonably-priced transporter to take their stock of chickens, one youth asking around for the cheapest fares to Beamonde, one other offering his skills to any short-handed crew. Then there were the regulars, the pickpockets, and the whores.
Though not many of that last batch. Just enough of them to wet the men’s appetites, nimble fingers always ready to point the way to Bessie Mae’s, where the women’s associates would be more than happy to offer them their services.
Jayne propped his feet up onto Mal’s chair as Mal went for another round of Ngkapei. He swirled the last dregs in his mug, looking over the crowd. His eyes skipped over a huddled group of youths and squinted through the smoke at the men leaning at the bar. To his left, Wash was saying something. Jayne finished his drink and tuned back into the conversation.
“—that those Dogbots sell for more than real live dogs,” said Wash.
“Better believe it,” said Zoë. “They love ‘em over in the better-off colonies, where they got the money to buy a dog but not to feed it year-round. More economic that way.”
“So why get the ‘bot anyway?”
“’Cause kids have an amazing way of bein’ insistent?” offered Jayne.
“But…” Wash gestured with his mug. “Dogs, though, real ones—they can be put to work. Not those fancy jīnshǔ-mutts.”
“Oh, these ‘bots can be put to work too,” said Zoë. “They may not herd cattle, but they’re certainly useful to town-folk.”
“How so?”
“Watch-dogs,” said Jayne. “Got ‘em rigged up with cameras.” He peered into his empty mug. “People use ‘em to watch over their smaller herds, flocks and similar.”
“Shopkeepers like using them too, especially to ward of shoplifters and run errands,” added Zoë. “And the sick, to carry their meds around. Some docs use ‘em too, if they need more drugs than they got on them. Our model’s a bit limited, though.”
“’Bout the cameras,” said Wash, pointing towards Jayne, “the dogs’s we’re selling don’t have very good ones installed. Just a few hours memory and very limited light requirements.”
“It’s the new ones that’re really designed for that,” clarified Jayne. “Heard say they got them so’s they can smell things, recognize people--”
Zoë raised an eyebrow and pressed her cool mug against her cheek. “Combine that with night vision, visual and audio captures, maybe even Cortex-connection…”
Wash gave a low whistle. “Sounds pretty.”
Jayne shrugged. “Reckon we’ll be seeing them soon enough, our line of work being what it is.”
“Also,” added Zoë, “the regular models respond to voice-commands, talk back and all, like the one’s we’re transporting.” She patted her husband’s arm reassuringly. “Seem’s like a nice toy.”
Over on the other side of the smoky room Mal’d finally managed to shoulder his way to the bar and was placing their orders. Jayne glanced at the man beside the captain, noting he had what looked to be a new model of the Vicar: he didn’t remember the handle being that long. He’d have to ask around in the morning, maybe get himself one too.
Then his eyes drifted over to one of Bessie’s girls and he stood up.
“Jayne?” asked Zoë, glancing in Mal’s general direction. She’d noticed Jayne’s scrutiny of the bar.
Jayne placed his mug on the table, tilting it to make sure he’d drunk it all. He pocketed his stubbed out cigar and wiped his hands on his pant legs. “Goin’ over to Bessie’s for a spell,” he said, picking his hat from the table. “Be back by first light.” He nodded at the two and pushed his way towards the door.
As he left the table, he heard Wash say, loud enough for him to hear, “Couldn’t we give him the slip this time?”
Jayne made a small detour to the pool table, giving the balls an experimental poke. The solid red one rolled forward a little, but his finger went straight through the striped green. Yup, he thought, just as broken as last time.
As he turned from the pool table, something on the floor caught his eye. Stooping, he picked it up and turned it over. It was an old leather hat, somewhat burnt along the edges. Jayne turned it over again. Kinda small, he decided, before letting it drop.
Jayne skirted the huddle of men waiting for their drinks, failed to spot Mal, and took a death breath as he walked out into the street. He looked back a moment, right hand on his back pocket, then strolled down to visit the girls.
Back at the bar, Mal made his way to the table, four mugs of Ng-Ka-Pei clutched tightly in his hands. He plopped the mugs down, spilling yet more of the liquor, mumbling a few choice phrases regarding the rude jostling he’d had to save the drinks from. As he shook his hands free of the liquor he said, “Where’d Jayne go off to?”
“Did you see his shirt?” said Wash.
“Shirt?” Mal frowned. “What’s clothes got to do with it? Zoë, your man itching to shop again?”
“No, sir,” answered Zoë with a smile. “Wash and Jayne don’t share the same tastes in clothes, either.” She reached for a mug, pushing the other towards her husband.
Wash accepted the mug and took a sip. He winked over its edge. “He went to see a lady,” said Wash with a smirk.
Mal dropped into his seat and took a swig of his drink. “And since when does Jayne know ladies?”
“Well,” mused Wash, “figure he’ll get to know them pretty well by daylight.”
“Whorin’?” Mal rubbed his eyes. “Does that man have to make whoring a bì bù kě shǎo zǔ chéng?”
“Chángcháng,” added Zoë in the tone of one saying “amen”.
“The shirt, Mal.”
“Why’s he talking about the shirt like it’d explain something?” asked Mal of Zoë.
“It’s his ‘I’m going out whoring’ shirt,” explained Wash.
Mal seemed to think this over a moment. “Thought it was his “I’m getting dead drunk” shirt. All with the drinkin’ and the making merry.”
“Plenty of merry making,” noted Zoë, stifling a grin.
“Definite sexing, Jayne wearing that shirt,” agreed Wash.
Ngkapei (ng gaa pei) - an actual Chinese rice wine/liqueur soaked in the root bark of the medicinal herb acanthopanax.
jīnshǔ – metal
Vicar - a totally invented type of gun
bì bù kě shǎo zǔ chéng – absolute necessity
chángcháng – with frequency
